Accent and dialect have always been fundamental to my writing and life in general, though I'm not entirely sure where this originates.

The comedian Michael MacIntyre has a great skit where he combines all his talent for observation, body-humour and mimicry. He describes how a journey across the 'country' ( he means England) produces the curious phenomenon of moving from a broad West Country 'Orrrrigh?' through a genteel Home Counties 'Hello!', to an equally thick East Anglian accent 'Orrrrigh?' again.

My early childhood journey from Aberystwyth to Cambridge was quite a shock. Arriving at the city with a strong Cardi accent I hated the piss-taking and soon fitted in, though never quite adopted the strangulated Cockney of the working-class of that university city. While walking to school, one boy greeted me every day by calling out 'Watcha mate!'. I was convinced it was a threat, just by the sound of it (I was certain he'd said 'Watch it!'). I never replied. He must have thought me stuck up.

My first real awareness of dialect combined with a distinctive accent came when we moved to the village of Horseheath, on the edge of Cambridgeshire. The burrs and deeply-rounded vowels were reminiscent of my grandparents hint of the Somerset where they both grew up. I made friends there from all classes, from the rector's son to farm and factory workers (I played for a local factory footie team). Their voices reflected the rolling chalk hills and densely packed barley fields. My brother - a student at Cambridge at the time - dismissed the accent I'd willingly taken on, with.... 'You sound just like a bumpkin!'

The same level of revelation came when I went to live in the town of my other grandparents, Barry. It wasn't really until I took a gap year to work at two garages there, that I came to terms with its accent. Working alongside pump attendants and mechanics I listened intently to them and soon my voice echoed theirs. I wasn't conscious much of dialect though, apart from the ubiquitous phrases such as 'good as gold!'

One pump attendant with a very strong accent was virtually indecipherable, but I loved his cynicism and contempt for customers with their posh cars. His squeezed and extended vowels were especially harsh, so he sounded like a human crow with his 'Whaaaaaaat?' In retrospect, it was like a mockery of the Cardiff accent.

Belfast was something else. Although me and my wife actually lived near Ballymena, we spent every weekend in Belfast and her accent and dialect were steeped in the Falls Road. I was fascinated by its richness and the fact that certain phrases were only used by the Catholic/nationalist/republican people : one being 'smile like a goat a-hanging' , which refers to the Puck Fair, where a goat is raised high as king. Most of the phrases, however, crossed the great divide, such as 'wee toady' (very small) and 'skrake of dawn'(early in the morning).

Belfast has never left me. I still use words like 'banjaxed' (meaning not functioning ) to the utter bewilderment of those around me outside my home. Ironically, I refused to speak at all when travelling in the black taxis of the Falls; afraid to arouse suspicion. The next year we moved to W.Germany and the irony was compounded by the fact that one fellow teacher of EFL dubbed me - 'the Belfast Welshman'. My weird amalgam of East Anglia/Barry/Belfast must have baffled the ear.

Merthyr has had the most profound impact on my work and my consciousness. In a tough Comp. the dialect was a tool of survival. When you were called 'Angin!' , you needed to know the degree of insult! I was interested to find the influence of the Welsh language as well, not just on the vocabulary (words like 'cwtch' and 'twti down'), but on the nature of the dialect, with its adherence to flow and sound. Instead of the exact 'going up the mountain', you have the running 'goin up-a mountain', much like mutations in Welsh.

I remember a review of my book of stories 'Wanting To Belong', written by a Rhondda writer.who questioned my use of 'wuz' and 'woz' as unnecessary. Yet, while it may not exist in the Rhondda, this features 'round yer', with the shorter 'wuz' and longer 'woz' both prevalent.

Though I definitely do not talk with a Merthyr accent, I use the greeting 'Orrigh?' all the time. I recall a particularly pretentious Deputy Head who always insisted on replying to this with - 'Yes, I'm fine Michael....and you?'Moreover, there is always a voice in my head which drops all its 'h's' and 'g's from endings to perfection.

am I allowed to use such lower-middle-teenage terms such as "Lush??" Coz it is! My late and dearly beloved mother-in-law was from Bannbridge, and was wont to say stuff like "away with the mixer" instead of "daft" "poor wee snipey" instead of ?????!As for accents, my work takes me out and about, and I have covered areas from Neath down to Kidwelly, and the accent actually changes every 8-9 miles or so. It is possible to distinguish between the Swansea and Gorseinon accent quite easily! And as for Llanelli, well it is the epitome of all harmonies!!

Reply

Andrea

7/26/2012 02:30:56 pm

Looking for something my mother use to say to us at bedtime. Her moms parents were Scottish immigrants in the nineteens... It went something like this... Poor wee snipey, came home all wet and drukid, callee callee callee ( as she stroked then patted our cheeks...

Reply

Peter

12/5/2013 04:14:03 am

Poor wee snipey, was out all night (said while drawing childs hands across their face with your own) Got all wet and muddy, cock-up-al-lugs. (Last part patting child's hands own their or your own face)

Thanks for another informative web site. Where else could I get that kind of info written in such a perfect way? I have a project that I am just now working on, and I have been on the look out for such information.

Reply

JM

6/4/2014 08:23:37 am

my belfast relatives used to say: poor wee snipey! where did you lay your eggs last night? (stroking child's puffed up cheeks) I laid them in the barn….. and along came a big thrasher and broke 'em all up! (and you push on the cheeks "break up" the "eggs")

Reply

JM

6/4/2014 08:24:23 am

Reply

Bill West

8/17/2014 10:24:43 am

My Grandfather from Cookstown Co. Tyrone had a version that went: Poor wee snipe. Poor wee snipe. Where'd ya lay your egg last night? In Campbell's bog? Why'd ya leave did you not bring your egg home last night.

Reply

patrick duffy

12/11/2016 10:20:52 am

my grandfather worked all his life in belfasts

poor wee snipey, where did you lay your eggs, in the bog, what did you cover them with, a wee grain of fog, .....

My Mother who was from Monaghan, Ireland used to stroke our faces and recite "Poor wee snipey, out in the bog, all night long, with his trousers on". Anyone else know about this?

Reply

Jan

11/12/2017 08:00:23 pm

In our family my grandmother would stroke her had down our face and say, poor wee snipey, came home from the bog, drukin and wet...but there were more parts that I don't remember... can any one add any more to the story...I have checked with the older members of my family and they don't remember more than I do...
thanks
We assumed that it was talking about a laborer who was cutting peat to burn to heat his home and that after work he would be all wet and tired and we supposed had shared a bottle of whisky or some other alcoholic drink and now was coming home to his wife ready to go to bed and sleep off his drunkenness

Reply

Jamie

12/5/2018 01:57:12 am

Lovely to find this thread, here's our family version passed from my grandmother from south Co. Armagh, to my mother: "Poor wee snipey / where did you lay your eggs last night? / I lay them in the rushy bog / And what did you cover them with? / A wee grain of fog / Why didn't you bring some home for me ..." (last line repeated, stroking child's cheek).